


To Tame & Tether

by Cristinuke



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Bondage, Bondage and Discipline, Caning, Dildos, Flogging, M/M, Nipple Clamps, Riding Crops, Strapping, Subspace, Vibrators, gagging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-19 18:50:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1480243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cristinuke/pseuds/Cristinuke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint comes home to Phil in a bad mindset. Phil takes care of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Tame & Tether

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the lovely varjohaltija. :)

Clint stood in front of door, just staring blankly at the wood. He was so fucking exhausted.

The past month had been a shit storm, between missions in Croatia and Bolivia, and he'd barely seen Phil in between. He had missed Phil so fucking much. But he didn't deserve him. Especially not now.

Croatia had been… _bad_. Just thinking about made Clint shiver, and his muscles tightened further with the added stress. All Clint wanted to do was reach for that stupid doorknob, turn it and go inside, only to see Phil and hide in his chest forever, wrapped safely in his arms away from SHIELD, away from missions, and away from all the blood.

But he couldn't.

Phil was so good to him, and would tell him that everything was okay, and that he loved him and that they'd get through this, but Clint couldn't bear to hear it. He felt like he'd explode if he heard it. He didn't deserve Phil.

But he couldn't leave either. Phil had ordered him to go straight home to him as soon as the briefing was over, and Clint hadn't had the heart to argue.

So Clint closed his eyes and counted to ten before reaching for that doorknob. He hesitated once, and then pushed open the door. He instantly regretted it, when he felt warm air and the smell of delicious cooking filling the apartment. He didn't deserve this at all.

He was about to turn around and leave when he heard a voice that always calmed him down.

"Clint? Is that you?" Phil knew it was Clint, was expecting him, but he still asked. Pretending to be a normal person and not a spy that knows everything, Clint supposed. Phil was sitting on the sofa that faced away from Clint to the television set, but Clint could see Phil turning around to look at him.

Clint couldn't answer. It seemed he didn't have to, when Phil stood up and walked over to stand in front of Clint; he was wearing only a plain white t-shirt and Clint's favorite baby blue boxers. He looked so domestic, and Clint's heart ached to just let himself melt into his familiar embrace. But he stayed where he was and stared at the middle of Phil's chest, unable to look up at his face.

"Clint?" Phil's tone was so fucking gentle it hurt Clint. Phil was always so caring and so loving, and everything that Clint couldn't handle at the moment.

He shook his head curtly, not trusting himself not to blurt out something on accident. He still couldn't meet Phil's eyes, but he saw Phil's arms move slowly,- to give Clint a chance to move if he wanted to, (as if),- and he placed his warm hands on either side of Clint's arms that were hanging loosely by his sides.

Clint could feel himself crumpling, and wanted Phil's hands to be the only thing holding him up, but he didn't deserve this, didn't deserve Phil. He didn't deserve Phil tightening his hold while murmuring his name with a mixture of sympathy and understanding and then being pulled tight against the chest he'd been dreaming about for the past month. He didn't deserve the light kiss Phil placed on the side of his neck when he fitted Clint's head neatly onto his shoulder.

The loving embrace was the last straw for Clint, as his shivers grew, and he finally blurted out, "Hurt me."

He felt Phil go still, and Clint wanted to cry, wanted to take it back and leave, wanted to give Phil another chance at a happier life with someone who deserved him, but all that came out of his mouth was a broken whisper, begging, "Please. Phil." Clint's voice trembled on Phil's name and shuddered worse, barely holding on.

"Shhhh," Phil's voice was poisoned honey, "It's okay, Clint." No it wasn't. "I'll take care of you."

Clint wanted to scream, but instead he followed closely behind Phil who moved back and started tugging Clint along with him to the back room of their apartment. Clint knew that was where they kept all their equipment, and he wanted to protest, say he didn't deserve the good things that happened in there, but Phil left no room for argument as he steadily lead them through the door.

"Strip." Phil's order was gospel, and suddenly Clint only had one thing he had to focus on: Phil. It should have been worrying to Clint how easily he slipped into the role of complete following, but he couldn't care. He had his directive, and all he had to do was complete it. So he efficiently started unbuckling all the straps of his uniform and shucking off everything he could. When he was finally free of his boots and pants, his underwear followed quickly after, joining the other clothes on the floor.

Clint could breathe marginally better as he came to a parade's rest, facing the room. While he'd been stripping, Phil had gotten some things out and arranged them. He was standing next to a wooden bench that could have passed for a very low table.

"Come here, Clint." Phil beckoned, and Clint complied easily until he was standing face to face with Phil, with only the bench in between. He still couldn't quite meet Phil's eyes, but it didn't seem to bother Phil who told Clint to lie down on the bench, face down.

Clint climbed on and did as he was told, but the lack of sight around the room suddenly was overbearing and he tensed all over. Just as he started to push himself back up, Phil grabbed a hold of one of his wrists and looped a piece of rope around it, and then around one of the planks of wood at the corner of the bench. He cinched it tight, making Clint unable to move that hand away. Phil did the same to the other, and Clint fought the urge to squirm and try to slip the restraints. Knowing Phil, he wouldn't be able to anyway, and the thought should have comforted him, but it did nothing at the moment.

Phil moved away from Clint's field of vision, and Clint panicked, trying to twist around to see where he'd gone, but was cut short by his immobilized hands.

"Easy, Clint, I'm right here." Clint felt Phil's hand caress down his bare back and over the swell of his ass. The gentle touch was burning where it went, and Clint couldn't help flinching and letting out a gasp. He was too wired to stand the softness right now.

Phil seemed to understand and he wasted no more time before gripping an ankle and tying it to the end of a pole. Clint couldn't see it, but he figured it was the spreader bar, and sure enough, Phil moved to the other side and spread Clint's legs so that his other ankle could be tied to the other end of the pole. Clint shivered at the exposed feeling, and the fact that he really couldn't escape Phil's knots.

Clint wasn't expecting his legs to suddenly rise off of the bench, and he realized that Phil had attached the spreader bar to a pulley rope and had tied it so that the bar would be a couple feet above the bench, forcing Clint's legs to bend and follow. Clint felt truly pinned, with his hands tied down slightly in front of him and his legs pulled away and above him.

Phil came back to the front of Clint, and this time Clint could see what was in his hands: a ball-gag contraption meant to fit around his head.

Clint moaned at the sight, unable to avert his gaze until Phil crouched so that he was facing Clint. He tried to look away but Phil gripped him by the hair and slowly turned him towards Phil's face. Phil leaned in and kissed Clint softly on the lips, making Clint whimper desperately and create burning pinpricks at the corners of his eyes.

"You're so good for me, Clint. So perfect." Phil whispered.

Clint opened his mouth to start protesting emphatically, when Phil pushed the ball gag into his waiting mouth, muffling his self-deprecations before he'd had a chance to start. Clint groaned around the ball, and worked his jaw so that he could find a comfortable position while Phil started buckling straps around Clint's face; the straps went vertically above his cheeks and nose, partially obscuring Clint's field of vision, under his chin, across his cheeks and around and over his head. By the end, the ball gag was securely strapped inside of Clint's mouth with no hope of spitting it out, and Phil could hold Clint's head with the hook at the top of Clint's head.

When Phil tugged the hook upwards, Clint moaned as the movement forced him to bend his back. Phil did something and then he walked away, making Clint realize that he had attached the hook to another pulley rope that held his upper torso by his head.

Clint felt exposed and trapped, barely able to shift with the position he was forced into; his back was bowed backwards as if doing an inverted bridge, and he could hardly support himself with his elbows and forearms. Clint could already feel his stretched muscles growing sore under the strain of the position combined with the ordeals of the past month.   


"You look so good. All wrapped up and perfect for me." Phil murmured reverently as he brushed his hand along Clint's cheek. Clint flushed red and moaned weakly, unable to protest or move away and block out Phil's words. Phil leaned over and placed a light kiss on Clint's cheek and Clint wanted to cry because the care and love Phil was displaying was unbearable.

Luckily, Phil moved back, but he kept his hand cupping Clint's cheek. As he moved around, his hand trailed along Clint's neck, to his shoulder and slowly down the curve of his back until he reached the swell of Clint's ass.   


"I'm going to start now, Clint. Okay?" Phil warned quietly. Clint couldn't nod, but he didn't shake his head either, so Phil removed his touch to go pick up whatever he was going to use. The lack of contact combined with the fact that Clint couldn't see what was happening made him whimper and squirm uncomfortably.

He settled down immediately when Phil placed his hand on the small of his back.

"I love you, Clint." Phil declared, and then moved his hand away. Clint had barely enough time to close his eyes in guilt before he heard a soft whistle and felt a hard _crack_ on his ass. Clint's eyes flew open in surprise, and he gasped when he felt another, and another, and another.

The rational part of his brain was telling him that Phil was using the bamboo cane, but Clint soon couldn't care less over the sweet, sharp stings of pain that were slowly starting to spread throughout his ass. Each hit was like a rush of oxygen to his brain and one by one, every thought was being driven out as Phil settled into a relentless rhythm.

Too soon, Phil paused for a break, and Clint's whines of protest were quickly cut off when he felt Phil's hands brush over the heated skin that had just been worked over. Clint groaned loudly when Phil started kneading the abused fleshed, working the ache deep into the muscle, and enforcing the burn.

Clint closed his eyes in shame and started shivering when Phil tipped his hip up for a moment to pull out Clint's hard cock so that it could rest in between his legs. He couldn't help the shudder though, when Phil's fingers stroked up and down his shaft, making him fill out even more.

"So hard for me, baby. So good. I love seeing you ready and throbbing." Phil praised, and even though Clint didn't think he deserved  it, he hardened even more under Phil's ministrations. Clint could feel how fucking gentle Phil was as he played with Clint's cock, rubbing along and around the head, and teasing down to squeeze and fondle his balls.

Phil's fingers moved further up and then Clint felt his ass cheeks being pushed apart and Phil's thumb rubbing over his exposed hole. Clint moaned and Phil just continued, fastening his grip on Clint's ass while prodding and rubbing along his pucker. Just when Clint didn't think he could take it anymore, Phil released him and moved back. Clint didn't have to wait long, wondering where he'd gone, before he felt the cane whip down on the back of his thighs.

Clint screamed on instinct, and quickly cut himself off, breathing hard when Phil didn't let up, smacking him over and over and over along his legs, from the back of his knees to just under the swell of his ass. Clint could clearly imagine the red, angry lines that were rising on his creamy skin as Phil rose welt after welt. It stung and it hurt and it freed Clint with its blinding pain. Clint waited on baited breath for the next stroke, but he heard how Phil moved around the bench so that he was standing in front of Clint.

Clint could see that there was something in Phil's hand, but it wasn't until Phil crouched in front of him and started fondling his nipples, did he realize that he was probably holding some sort of clamps. Sure enough, Phil gave a little smile, and opened his hand in front of Clint so that he could see the little metal teeth of the clamps that were held together by a thin, linked chain.

The moment that Phil pinched a nipple and clamped the first one on, Clint started struggling. It wasn't intentional, but he couldn't stop himself from trying to get away from the vicious pain that laced his chest all of a sudden. Phil's hands were everywhere, desperately attempting to calm him, but when it proved futile, he just clamped the other one on. It hurt so much, and it worsened with every ragged breath and twitch; Clint knew if he could just calm down and go still, they wouldn't hurt so much, but his head was feeling too fuzzy for him to remember that. Even with Phil murmuring praises and sweet nothings, it took a while for Clint to finally accept the bindings.

Phil knew the moment when Clint went passive,-  of course he did. Clint watched, bleary-eyed, how he straightened up and wiped some of the saliva that was drooling out and around Clint's mouth. Clint was mortified by it, but Phil just smiled fondly and stroked his cheek. He disappeared from Clint's sight again, and there was nothing to indicate what he was doing until Clint heard a _whoosh_ and felt what was certainly the flogger along his back.

Clint tried to arch into the sudden pain, but his position didn't allow for it, so all he could do was take it as Phil covered his entire back with the thudding pain of the leather tails. Each strike covered large areas with its biting slices, and it burned intensely. It hurt a lot, but it wasn't nearly enough for Clint, and he knew Phil realized it as well.  


It wasn't enough until Phil paused for a moment, and the next time he struck, Clint yelped at the narrowed area of focused _pain_ on his shoulder. Phil was merciless with the crop as he struck over and over again, with obviously more strength than he had previously used with the flogger. Each landing of the crop was like it was tearing Clint's flesh wide open, and Clint knew without a doubt that bright red welts were appearing along his back. He knew Phil was clinical and accurate with the thing, but it all felt scrambled in Clint's mind when Phil started hitting down in the diagonals across welts already risen.

It hurt so much.

It was perfect.

Clint was getting lost in the haze of the pain, letting it wash over him and chasing away any and every thought he had. He almost missed it when Phil stopped and walked back around to face Clint.

It wasn't until he felt the leather tip of the crop under his chin, that Clint thought to open his eyes and blink up at Phil. He was suddenly kissed along the edges of his lips and gag, and just as quickly the kiss was over and Clint whimpered when he felt the chain of his nipple clamps being tugged down and out, tightening the clamps and bringing back the dull pain that had taken a backseat for a little bit. It was now at the very forefront of his mind, and Clint was soon panting with the ache of it all.

Phil let go of the chain, and ordered, "Eyes on me." Clint had no other option but to watch as Phil raised the crop and brought it down over a clamped nipple. Clint yelled and pulled back desperately, but Phil was adamant with his precision and aim, hitting his other nipple and starting a rhythm that Clint could barely keep up with as he switched from side to side at random.

When Clint's eyes shuttered closed on one particular hit, Phil paused and jerked Clint's head back by his hair, commanding lowly, "I said, 'eyes on me', Clint." Clint's eyes never left Phil's again as Phil resumed his earlier mission of abusing Clint's tender chest.

Phil tossed the crop away after a while, and grabbed the chain again, tugging it back and making Clint's eyes water. When Phil gently released the chain, he started talking about how good Clint was being while he tugged on the pulley rope that held Clint's head up; he pulled it tighter, forcing Clint to arch his back even more to compensate for the new added strain. Phil disappeared and Clint felt him pull on the pulley rope on his spreader bar, folding his back even further. Clint's back muscles protested, but Clint didn't make a sound. At least not until he felt Phil's fingers back at his ass, where they started prodding around again.

In truth, the way that Phil spread Clint apart, was equal parts humiliating and arousing, because he was helpless to stop it, but it meant that Phil had that much more control over Clint. Clint gasped when he felt one of Phil's dry fingers starting to push against his hole, forcing the muscle there to relax and accept the invasive finger. Just when Clint thought he was going to push in all the way, the finger disappeared, only to be replaced by a glob of cold lube. The finger came back and rubbed and spread the lube across his entrance before finally, _finally_ pushing in.

Phil wasted no time, and started pumping his finger in and out, going slowly at first and then faster and faster as Clint relaxed around the intrusion. Soon, Phil was simply fucking Clint, and Clint got the distinct impression that properly opening him up wasn't the goal here.

He fucking loved that idea.

He loved it even more when Phil pulled out, added more lube and started pushing in two fingers, making Clint groan at the burning stretch. Clint started moaning when Phil started really fucking him with his fingers.

Clint whined at the feeling of Phil removing his fingers and then they didn't come back for a while. It made Clint start to fidget and think again, and before he could really string a thought together, Phil was back and instead of his fingers this time, he got a huge, blunt object. Phil was insistent as he started pushing the enormous thing inside of Clint, spreading him wide open and forcing what felt like rubber into his hole. Clint moaned and squirmed instinctively against the invading object, but it was useless.

Finally, it dawned on Clint that Phil was using a dildo, and the thought made Clint suddenly desperate. He didn't want it anymore, not this thing, this inanimate object that was rubber and hard and lifeless.

Clint wanted Phil. He wanted Phil to be the one filling him up so thoroughly and completely, owning him in body, mind and soul, and fucking into him with Clint unable to do anything but take what Phil decided to give to him.

But Clint didn't get Phil, he got a giant dildo that was fucking him wide open, and stretching him beyond belief while Phil tapped on the end of it to jar it inside of Clint. It was a poor replacement for Phil's cock, and it felt impersonal and unforgiving as it jostled and jolted Clint with every tap.

The dildo must have been attached to a pole, because when Phil stopped jarring the dildo, Clint heard and felt him tying rope to the middle of his spreader bar. The dildo-pole seemed attached to the bar, effectively keeping Clint plugged up with the ridiculous rubber phallus.  


"You're doing so well for me, Clint. I'm so proud of you." Phil commended as his fingers trailed up along Clint's thighs, tracing random welts from before, and lightly scratching across others. The reinforced burn was delicious against his skin, and Clint could have cried with the perfection of the brutal clarity of the pain.

He felt Phil press a kiss against the curve of his ass, where the skin must have been burning against Phil's lips. The next moment Clint was aware of, was a loud smack directly over the kiss print Phil had left.  


It took a microsecond of stark surprise before the pain caught up with Clint, and he screamed and screamed in agony. The pain was total and engulfed the whole of Clint's life, starting in his ass and spreading to his fingertips and toes. It was utterly complete and unforgiving as each swing of the strap landed on abused flesh.

Clint had never felt Phil hit so hard as he did now, and he never wanted it to end, even as his throat grew hoarse with his shrieks of anguish. He had never felt pain like this before, so clear and so demanding, and it almost scared him with how perfect everything was at the moment. The leather bit into his flesh, and he could imagine shreds of skin, muscle and sinew flying off with each swing, with each torturous hit.

Of course his flesh was still intact, as he would figure out later, when Phil threw down the strap and enforced the agony with massaging hands. It went on forever, and Clint was lost in the haze. His vision had gone blurry and unfocused, but it didn't bother Clint in the slightest, not with Phil taking care of him like this.

A strange, loud buzzing sound permeated the air, and Clint couldn't even begin to think about what was coming next. He felt like a raw nerve, and when Phil started stroking his cock again, Clint screamed at the overstimulation. His cock was still unbelievably hard, and it twitched in Phil's hand. Phil wrapped his fingers around the shaft, and then Clint gasped and flinched when something vibrating was pressed hard against the head of his cock.

The vibrations were ruthless and unbearable, and his cock could only swell harder. Clint was barely able to suck in enough air, his mind on overdrive, and his body hypersensitive to the air around him.

Then Clint felt Phil push him down onto the bench, but the vibrations followed and pushed even harder against his defenseless cock and Clint lost it for a moment, unable to think or struggle or even breathe. He'd barely inhaled when Clint felt the bamboo cane land hard on his thighs again, and Clint couldn't believe the raw _pain_ that he was enduring. He couldn't remember the last time he'd hurt this much and it didn't stop, as Phil alternated between thighs, whacking him sharp and clean while the pitiless vibrations continued their torture.

One hit too many, and suddenly Clint was coming harder than he'd ever done in his life, pulsing and shaking and screaming and crying. It went on forever, and Clint couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything but _feel_ , and break apart completely. His vision was gone, and he didn't know where he was or what was happening anymore. Clint didn't have the energy to be afraid or even feel any other emotion; he simply _was._

He didn't realize that Phil had eased out the dildo, or had gently lowered the spreader bar and untied his legs. He hardly recognized the dull pain from clamps that were pulled off from his nipples. He barely understood that Phil had gently undone the hook from its tether, and was carefully undoing the straps around his head. He faintly acknowledged that Phil was coaxing Clint to release the ball gag, but he didn't realize it took several long minutes before he finally did. He was vaguely surprised when Phil's fingers brushed gently across his face to wipe away stray tears.

Phil laid Clint's head down on the bench, and Clint was in awe of the air that filled his lungs. When Phil started untying the knots at his wrists, however, Clint made an unhappy noise when he suddenly realized he didn't want to be untied just yet. He wasn't ready.

Phil seemed to understand, and instead Clint felt the rope release from the bench, but his bindings were in Phil's hand now. Phil tugged gently, and Clint's mind tried to interpret the soft coaxing Phil was murmuring to Clint about getting up from the bench, but it all turned into fuzz. Clint assumed he must have stood up at some point, because he was being led through the apartment by Phil who still had in his hands the rope that were tied to Clint's wrists.

Like jesses, Clint thought.

Clint was the bird, and Phil his handler, and Clint trusted his handler with his life. He'd follow those jesses anywhere they led.  


Phil was suddenly pressing down on Clint's shoulder, and Clint obeyed blindly. He was rewarded with soft sheets against his sore body. Phil arranged him on the bed, and tied the wrist rope to the headboard of the bed, stretching Clint's arms in front of him. Clint laid his head on top of his arms and enjoyed the pleasant ache and bliss that was coursing through his veins.

He couldn't help the hiss that escaped his mouth unbidden, when Phil started rubbing something cold and thick across his back. The sweet, fragrant smell hit his nose a few moments later, and Clint relaxed back onto the bed as Phil spread ointment on every welt and every bruise. The medicine must have been fast-acting, because soon Clint was feeling numb and tingly, with only the dull ache of pain left over.

Clint felt Phil leave, and he started breathing hard again, wishing fervently that he would come back. He wanted Phil so badly; he wanted to bury into his chest and thank him over and over again for putting up with him; he wanted to feel Phil's arms to wrapped tightly around Clint and for him to tell him that he loved him, and Clint wanted to tell Phil how much he loved him in return.

Luckily, Phil came back, and slipped into the bed next to Clint, bringing up the covers, and making sure that Clint was snug in them. Clint hadn't even realized that he'd started shivering uncontrollably until Phil pulled Clint into his arms, and tucked him against his body while rocking them back and forth and whispering sweet things into Clint's ears. Clint wanted to thank him, but his mouth didn't seem to want to work with him anymore, so he settled against Phil. Snuggling deeper into warm comfort he felt something against his thigh. With drugged joy, Clint realized it was Phil's cock, hard for him, and Clint suddenly wished Phil would turn him over and fuck him, fill him completely and come inside of him, marking him as Phil's and only Phil's.

Clint made soft whines in his throat and awkwardly moved his hands around until he was clumsily pawing at Phil's groin, trying to communicate his sudden brilliant idea.  


He felt and heard Phil chuckle softly, and he whimpered sadly when Phil said, "No more tonight, Clint. You did so well for me."

Clint wanted to protest, but he knew that tone of voice, and it left no room for debate, so Clint let Phil tug his hands back up so that they could rest between their chests, fingers curled loosely around Phil's shirt. It wasn't until he heard Phil whisper, "Another night..." That Clint finally relaxed completely. He was mollified by the promise and let his body calm down to match Phil's heart rate as Phil softly pet Clint's head in a soothing manner.

The last drifting thought before Clint fell asleep was that he was happy to be home again. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it! Let me know what you think! :D


End file.
